I'm Still Standing Page 4

  Chapter Four

  The taxi weaves its way through the tight traffic to Tara’s flat amongst a warren of tall Georgian town houses. When we arrive, I bang on the giant knocker of the big red door and wait.

  And wait.

  And wait some more.

  I hear movement inside, but nobody seems to be coming to the door.

  I catch my reflection in the oversized mirrored chimes that tinkle in the wind beside the front door. My exhaustion is evident; my hair looks dusty, gathered into a loose knot at the back of my head, long fringe bedraggled on either side of my face like a burnt-out ballerina. Even my eyes look pale, almost ghostly and see-through, thanks to the big dark bags underneath them. Whoever answers this door is going to think it’s an attack of the living dead. I try to lick down the stray hairs standing up and puff up the hairs that are flat. Give me strength.

  I spent all day yesterday trying to decide what I needed to bring and squeeze it into a wheelie suitcase. The rest I’ll keep stored away in my mother’s garage. Luckily I don’t own much. Well, not any more. The biggest portion of stuff got reassigned to the charity shop. Too many memories. James’s old T-shirt that I wore to bed. The goldfish-bowl wine glasses that I envisaged us drinking from on a blanket in front of an open fire, but which in reality I drank from alone while James kept calling down the stairs that he just needed to finish this level on his game and then he’d join me. But by the time he was ready, I was spent. Just never seemed to come together.

  I sit down on the suitcase and take out my phone to check again that I’ve got the right address. Then I double-check my sister’s text message.

  Cannot wait! Will be at the door with bells on. You just get yourself up here and we’ll take care of everything else. Dog days are over, babe, let the fun begin. Love you xx

  So she knows I’m coming. She’s expecting me. I knock once more. Still no answer.

  I sit down again and consider my options. This is Day One of Project Zero, starting my life all over again. I can’t go home; I’ve already lined up an interview with a recruitment agency that I absolutely need to attend if I’m ever going to carve a living for myself outside of Ballybeg. I can’t make the return journey within hours of leaving – that’s just embarrassing. And I don’t really have anywhere else to go… which is a very depressing thought.

  I text Tara: Where are you? No reply. I give her a ring, but her phone is turned off, which normally means she’s up in the air. Head in the clouds. Literally. Tara isn’t a planner; everything she does is slapdash and scribbled down somewhere on a scrap of paper. It’s usually organised chaos, but clearly not today.

  I look to the sky. A shamrock-emblazoned plane cuts across the city skyline in the distance. She could be on that one. I bloody well hope not, though, as it’s just taken off and looks like its heading across the Irish Sea.

  Maybe I should do that too.

  I’ve got my passport, I’ve got some cash. Perhaps the idea of coming to stay with Tara was just daft. After all, I could do anything. I could go anywhere. I have no husband or job to consider. I’m all by myself with no one to answer to. Maybe I should have set my sights a bit further afield; gone to London, invested all my savings in some madcap business I saw on Dragons’ Den and become a workaholic entrepreneur millionaire. Or tried my luck on a sheep farm in New Zealand, living alone out in the rolling hills, roaming the land each day with my staff and my trusty dog. Or crushed grapes with my bare feet in the vineyards of France by day and got suitably plastered with the other labourers at night. Or maybe I should just go to a petrol station toilet, shave all my hair off and join the army like Katy Perry did in her post-break-up video.

  I shake this nonsense out of my head. I know myself too well to even entertain these fantasies. I am a complete scaredy-cat. I want to stay in Ireland because it’s my home and I belong here, and ideally I want to stay being a teacher because it’s the one thing I know I can do. When things were going so wrong with James and I had to question myself about absolutely everything, from whether I was attractive enough to whether I was trying hard enough to make it work, the one thing that made me feel competent and worthy again was standing up in front of a class and having some sort of control. Knowing I could do it. Connecting and engaging; in my classes each day, I felt happy. I felt alive. I need to go to this interview tomorrow and get back into my happy place, because at least I know I can’t fail at that.

  And as for moving to Dublin, this is as far as I’ve ever really got from my west-coast village and the first time I’ve done anything remotely grown-up on my own.

  Has everything I thought I had really gone? Is everything I thought I knew really wrong?

  I need to make this work. I’m not putting my life on hold any more. That’s all I’ve done for the past few months. Today is the day I stop waiting.

  I’ve got to embrace this change. The worst is over, the decision is made, the paperwork is underway and I’m stepping into my new life, whatever it may hold, because you know what? I’m ready. I’m ready and I’m excited, and it’s weird, because I always thought free-falling like this would feel terrifying, but actually it feels a bit like flying. And I’m starting to like that feeling very much. This is my plan and I need it to work. So I’m not going anywhere until somebody answers this door and lets me know what on earth is going on.

  I take a deep breath and straighten my back. I want some answers. God knows, I’ve asked enough questions.

  Chapter Five

  Where on earth is Tara? I step up to the door and bang the knocker really hard again. Then I crouch down to the letter box and snap it open. ‘Hello? Anybody in?’

  ‘For feck’s sake, what is it now? I swear I’m going to murder someone,’ shouts a gravelly voice inside, harsh and angry.

  I hear stomping down the stairs. Then the door swings open and a hunched old woman with bushy white eyebrows is standing there, a gang of straight-tailed cats circling her feet. She curls her lip at me in confusion.

  ‘You’re not a Jehovah’s Witness?’

  I shake my head. ‘I’m Evelyn… Tara’s sister. I’m supposed to move in today – just for a while, till I get myself set up. But she’s not here and I’ve got all my stuff…’

  A flicker of recognition. ‘Oh, of course! The divorced one… Aren’t men BASTARDS?’ Her hands fly to her mouth. ‘Come in this minute. Let me take your bags, you’ve been through enough.’

  I follow her up the stairs, careful not to step on a cat or trip over stacks of unopened post.

  ‘I’m Moira, the landlady. I live up here with my granddaughter.’ She points to a closed door behind her, then places a long-nailed finger to her lips. ‘Still in bed, the lazy sod, that’s teenagers for you. No getting through to that one, just trouble and drama, sulking and slamming doors.’ She flutters her hand above her head.

  I look round Moira’s living room. There is no sign of a teenager living here at all. The sofa is covered in tiger-print cushions, and a daytime chat show flashes on the screen of the TV in the corner. Moira clears a coffee table covered with crosswords and word-search puzzles.

  ‘None of your girls are downstairs at the moment – air hostesses come and go at all manner of times. I never know where they are. They’re good girls, though, especially your sister. I’m usually very strict on one person per room, but seeing as it’s Tara, I made an exception. Sit down and we’ll have a drink. One of them should be home soon enough to let you in.’

  She waves me to the sofa, then lights up a fag, opens a box of red wine and sloshes two glasses full.

  ‘So, what are your plans now that you are here?’

  ‘Get settled, get myself set up. Hopefully once I’ve got a job and start earning, I’ll be able to get my own place, start my life here.’

  ‘I admire you. It’s not easy. My own husband upped and left me, you know, when I was your age…’ Three cats jump into her lap, and she kisses each of them on the mouth. ‘And that was that. I was a sullied woman. Second-h
and goods. Why on earth would a man court me, another man’s cast-off, when he could choose someone without baggage?’

  She offers me a cat. I decline. What’s she telling me? That I’m finished? That it’s not a matter of moving to the city or changing my life; the rule is that you get one shot to be happy in love, and if you mess it up, then it’s game over? No. No way. That can’t be true.

  ‘Really? There are people who think like that?’ I ask her.

  She slaps my thigh. ‘I’m joking! Gorgeous girl like yourself, you are going to have the best time of all!’ She blinks slowly. ‘That’s what I’ve done. Never a wife, always a mistress be. That’s my motto. I have gentlemen callers aplenty, dinners, theatre, gifts, you name it. All the romance happens outside of marriage, believe me. Once two people know that they can be free to be themselves – that’s when the magic starts. And if you’re looking for magic, Dublin is the place for you.’ She winks at me.

  ‘Anytime you want to call up here for a little wine and a chat, you’re welcome, okay? We could have a right chinwag, me and you. We could go out.’ She taps her finger against her nose. ‘I’ll show you all the best places to find eligible men.’

  ‘Definitely,’ I lie. Out on the prowl with Moira? I think that really would be rock bottom.

  ‘So you’re a teacher, I hear? That’s a nice number. Great holidays; you seem to be off more than you’re at work. I hate school holidays and weekends and evenings. Impossible to keep kids busy. Teenagers are always complaining, always bored, always wanting money or getting into trouble…’ She glances up at me, her eyes widening. ‘Have you a job lined up?’

  ‘Not exactly. I’ve got an appointment with a recruitment agency tomorrow, so.’

  She claps her hands together. ‘Oh, they’ll take forever by the time they sort their paperwork. I have an idea. Why don’t you tutor my granddaughter?’

  I open my mouth to answer, but Moira leans forward and has both hands on my knee now, staring at me intently.

  ‘She needs extra help, and Lord knows I can’t give it to her. You’re a teacher with time on your hands, living just downstairs. Couldn’t be more perfect! I’ll pay you. Actually, I’ll take it off Tara’s rent; how’s that for a deal?’

  I take a moment to gather my thoughts. This could be perfect; it would tide me over until I got a job, and putting ‘private tutor’ on my CV wouldn’t do any harm. This might be just what I’m after.

  ‘How old is your granddaughter?’ I ask.

  ‘Seventeen. About to do her final exams.’

  ‘What kind of tutoring does she need? I’m a music teacher, so I’m not sure if I’ll be qualified to help her.’

  Moira rolls her eyes. ‘Oh, whatever you can do will be a help, believe me. I need someone to keep her on track, off the streets.’

  Right, this is sounding like a completely different kind of job…

  ‘Could I meet her first? Introduce myself, have a little chat.’

  Moira purses her lips and slants her gaze towards me. ‘Evelyn, I think this is an offer you should consider carefully.’ The big tomcat claws at a smaller cat under the table, causing it to scramble behind my foot, whimpering. ‘As I said, I don’t usually like more than one person per room… I’d hate to see you go so soon.’

  Right, it’s like that then. Unless I take the tutoring job, she’s going to chuck me out. So it looks like I’m not left with much choice. I need to stay here with Tara, not just for somewhere to lay my head, but because I don’t know a single soul in this city. I’ve got to be near her for moral support.

  I hold out my hand to Moira. ‘Looks like we have a deal,’ I tell her.

  She shakes my hand and nods her approval. ‘Wonderful. She’ll be delighted. I’ll call down during the week and let you know the times that will suit. I think this could make the world of difference to her. Keep her busy and out of harm’s way.’ She empties the last of the wine box into her own glass. ‘Another drink?’ she offers, waving the empty box. I politely decline, shaking my head and wondering what on earth I’ve got myself into.

  Suddenly I hear footsteps on the stairs, and Tara rushes in through the door behind me, waving her gratitude to Moira. ‘I’m so sorry. Flight delayed, and then stuck in traffic! How are you?’

  My sister’s lovely excited face is a breath of fresh air. Even though she is technically late, this is perfect timing. I understand even more now how much I need her, how much there is to learn and how quickly I will need to find my feet. She wraps her arms around me, and her scent, the touch of her hair, her skin is so comforting, I feel like a small part of me is home.

  I kiss her over and over on her forehead, stroking her cheeks. ‘It is so good to see you,’ I tell her, tears starting to well in my eyes.

  She thanks Moira for looking after me, and leads me down to her ground-floor flat.

  When Tara said I should come to stay with her until I got set up, I had no idea that she lived like an actual adult in a very modern, stylish and homely two-bedroom flat. The place is spotless. There’s a huge Frida Kahlo framed print above a redundant fireplace, and a glass coffee table with a vase of fresh red and yellow flowers. It looks more like it belongs to a professional couple than a flat share. I love it.

  ‘That’s Inez’s room,’ she says as she points at the first bedroom. ‘She works all hours, mainly long haul too, so you’ll hardly see her. But we’ll arrange a night out together once our shifts have settled down. Bring you out on the town!’ She swivels on the spot and spins towards a second door. She pushes it open and waves her hand with a flourish at the tiny box room. ‘And…’ I take in the tight single bed and a lopsided wardrobe bursting at the seams, ‘this is us. Welcome to your new abode!’

  She flops on the mattress. ‘Right, you, make yourself at home. I know it’s a bit of a squeeze, but we’ll be grand! Dooley girls together again!’

  ‘Thank you, Tara. It’s wonderful.’

  She raises an eyebrow. ‘C’mon, we both know it’s not ideal, but it’s a start, right?’ She pats the blanket beside her. ‘You’re here. You’ve made it. I’m so proud of you, Evelyn. Really.’

  She loops a stray tendril of hair away from my cheek and around my ear. God, it’s good to be close to her, to have my sister on my side again.

  ‘So how does it feel? Are you excited?’ she asks me.

  ‘Yes, absolutely!’ I try to echo her enthusiasm, but surprise myself at the tiny crack in my voice.

  ‘Tell me.’ I sit by her and she rubs my back. ‘You look a bit… sad.’

  I bite down and swallow hard. I was so trying not to look sad. I am trying not to be sad. I am trying to override anything that is operating on a frequency beneath gung-ho positivity. I thought I was doing quite a good job on that front. Note to self: don’t bother trying to deceive Tara. She’ll get me every time. But the last thing I want is for her to worry about me; she’s got her own life and she’s really happy and successful, and I don’t want to be a burden to her, moving in here all lost and wary like a big Eeyore. A fat tear spills down my cheek.

  ‘We’ve got to get you out and about again. Get your mojo back.’

  ‘I don’t have a problem with going out. I can’t wait to go out! I’m just emotional. I never thought I’d be here like this. I thought I had it all mapped out, you know – husband, house, job. And now they’re all gone. But here I am with you, so thank you, Tara. Thank you for edging me towards this. Thank you for knowing this is what I needed.’

  Tara’s eyes widen and she clicks her tongue just like she used to do as a little girl every time she had a brainwave or an inspired idea. ‘I want to show you something.’ She hops up to turn off the light switch and draws the curtains as tight as she can. ‘Now, look up.’

  I lift my gaze, and see a freckling of plastic glow-in-the-dark stars glued to the ceiling.

  ‘I cannot believe you still have these,’ I tell her as I get up from the bed and reach my hand towards them.

  After our father died, I became
obsessed with the universe. A teacher at school had explained that energy could not be destroyed, only transferred, so I convinced myself that Dad had simply transferred from matter into light. One night in our bunks, shortly after Tara’s tenth birthday, she declared that she did not believe in ghosts. If Dad had any way to communicate with us, she said, then he would. He’d prank us and send us little messages of love. So because he didn’t do it, that meant there was no such things as ghosts.

  I hadn’t realised that all the same thoughts that were going around my head were also going around hers. Where had he gone? Where was he now? Could he see us? How would we know? Why did he have to go in the first place?

  ‘I think that makes sense. I don’t believe in ghosts either,’ I told her. ‘But…’

  She bolted upwards, eager to hear, waiting for some hopeful explanation that would make our absent dad feel closer.

  ‘I believe that he’s a star, and that he’s still around, even though we can’t see him. The universe is so deep, it can hold an unlimited number of stars. It has mysteries we can’t even begin to fathom.’

  After school the next day, I glued these tiny plastic stars to the ceiling above Tara’s bunk, so that if she ever felt lonely, all she had to do was look up and remember what we’d said. That the stars only appeared to fade away, but really they were there all the time, indestructible points of energy shining above us always.

  ‘They were the first thing I put up when I moved here. They made the place more friendly somehow.’ She squeezes my knee. ‘I wish you had told me you were so unhappy. Cry it out now; I think you’ve been holding on to it for too long by yourself.’ There’s no point trying to kid Tara. If there is anyone I can open up to, it’s her; after all, we’re sisters – she can’t exactly divorce me.

  ‘I didn’t even want myself to know, I suppose. I was so sure I would be better off without James, but it’s still new, and sometimes it’s weird being on my own. It’s a roller coaster: excited one minute, terrified the next. Confused, conflicted, crazy. How is it that I miss him?’